


Whenever You Return, Are You Really Mine?

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I tried my best, Possessive Behavior, childhood best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: Jon and Sansa have been best friends since they were twelve years old. People suspect they have feelings for each other. Sansa, being the sensible one and scared out of her mind for being rejected, has to convince herself otherwise.





	Whenever You Return, Are You Really Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this is okay, kudos and comments are welcomed!!

Sansa is used to silence. It isn’t because she doesn’t have friends because she does. And her household is filled with her siblings’ antics, with laughter and pranks in every corner. It’s just the quietness in her chest is what all she hears sometimes, dulling the noise of her surroundings and it’s a lulling tune she listens to.

But that all changed when she met Jon at the tender age of twelve. He popped her carefully thick and deafening bubble with his kind words, musical and often mesmerizing laughter, and somehow, she wanted to be surrounded by him. This yearning for a collision didn’t happen and she buries the disappointment deep in her chest. They were of different worlds, hers of libraries, lulling music while his consists of thrilling chases into the unknown and things that aren’t taught in books.

The thing is; Sansa might’ve loved him in her youth, as naïve she is of that foreign feeling. She didn’t dare label it though, packaged it off into the corner of her mind as some fleeting form of admiration. Jon deserves this though, for he is both a renowned athlete and is the second rank of their class (she is first of course). He’s amiable, kind, strong and other qualities she nearly associates with the noble knights Mother used to read to her.

_Stop dreaming about him. This is foolish._

But oh, she’s a fool for him.

Years passed by, with Sansa’s indifference for Jon increasing as her love for him does. She fools herself into thinking the distance of continents can change this feeling, growing in her chest like a living thing. But it doesn’t and she loves and hates it.

Their parents are disgustingly close, always she is to visit his house or vice versa. Dinner is a friendly affair, the food sweet on her mouth. They have her favourite ice cream prepared for her after everything else is eaten. Yet for Sansa, Jon is the true treat and she wonders if any dessert could rival at such a sweet sight.

In college, it isn’t even a surprise they’re at the same university; their parents being alumni helped them. On their freshman orientation, fear came in waves at seeing crowds of people flood the auditorium.  Jon stood by her side and _held_ her hand, his thumb soothing the tremor. His comforting attitude eventually seeped in her system and she relaxed against him. Sansa clung to him the entire time and it didn’t occur to her how he hadn’t minded this. He even held her hand in the first few days of their classes, giving her these small smiles that send her stomach fluttering.

She’s thankful her older brother, Robb, is busy with the committee and his organizations to truly notice her in the crowds, holding hands with someone so close to their family.

And still, the words are rooted in her mouth.

The months flew by, and she eases herself into the chaotic world of college. She spends her time in the library, studying and studying until her roommate checks up on her. Margaery is the friend she would’ve loved to have when she was younger because they’re so supportive of each other, quiet but still manages to exude warmth.

They began strolling down the paved pathways, finding their way back to their dormitory. Chatting of small things and Margaery takes pictures of their surroundings. Most like, to paint what she takes in for her classes.

“Sansa.”

They pause in their steps and turned around. To their utter surprise, it was someone from the football team. She never paid attention to Jon’ teammates. Whenever she sees him practicing, skin glistening with sweat and how the difference of him from a boy to a man can be seen in his twitching and corded muscles endlessly fascinate her. So yes, she doesn’t know any other player, doesn’t care if it doesn’t pertain to Jon.

“Yes?” She questions, sneaking a glance at her confused best friend.

The blonde shuffles his weight on his feet and folds his hands on his front. It’s evident he came back from the gym with his dri-fit shirt, the baggy shorts, and how his golden locks are matted with sweat. If she’s honest, this man is buffer than Jon. “Can we talk in private?” He asks.

Sansa nearly rejects the idea but Margaery answers for her. Patting Sansa’s hand with a sly grin and she walks off, alone.  She’s never been alone with a boy before. Mostly because her parents have vehemently warned her of social etiquettes that should be followed everywhere she goes.

(If only Mother knows of the constant touches she initiates with Jon, the older redhead would have a heart attack.)

“So, um, look I have to ask you something.” He says, the blue in his eyes like a summer sky. “Are you and Jon Snow dating?”

The question sent her _reeling_ , the heat on her face spreading in an instant and dripped down her neck. She didn’t answer for a few seconds, her eyes widen as it really _is_ a serious question. “I’m sorry but why would you think we’re dating?” The giddy feeling thrums heavy in her veins, at people already thinking what she doesn’t want to ponder on for years.

“Well, the talk is, you guys have been together since middle school until now. And I wasn’t sure of that because I never see you in parties with him.” He explained as though it makes all the sense in the world.

_I wish I was._

“No, I-I’m not dating him. He’s my friend. We’re friends.” Sansa wondered if the nameless boy could hear the scorn for that term, for having no other choice but to see themselves as this. But what’s the other way? Jon is clearly not interested in her. From the posts in Instagram, he parties and drinks and has girls’ hearts in his pockets. Obviously, he doesn’t like his childhood friend in the way she does for him.

A smile breaks out of his face. “Nice, so is it okay if we go and watch a movie sometime?” He asks with a hopeful tone.

Almost in a daze, she walks back to her dorm, and barely reacts to Margaery presenting a plate of pasta for them to dine on. She seats on the couch with the warm plate on her thighs.

“What’s wrong?” Margaery frets, concern scrunching her face.

“Harry asked me out.” Sansa said, her tone conveys how she’s still confused she is of what happened. Hours later and she still ponders on why she accepted his request.

An idea wormed itself into her mind, a rather unpleasant and realistic one. She has to go on a date so people will know they aren’t an item. So Jon can pursue girls openly now, seeing as how this strong founded rumour could deter his chances with girls that aren’t her. This notion sent a dull ache in her chest.

Her friend shifts on her seat and twirls her fork around her dinner. “Isn’t it good? I know you haven’t even kissed a boy. This one will do you good.” She says.  Because she’s the only other person to know Sansa’s shameful secret, of how she loves Jon. Even with the hopelessness of her dilemma, her heart still beats for someone who doesn’t see it.

“People think him and I are dating. Harry asked that first. Isn’t that silly?” Sansa said with a tiny huff of laughter, gingerly eating the dish.

Margaery regarded her with a careful look. “When people say that, maybe there’s something to talk about They’d need some evidence to chatter about other than airy words.” She murmurs but she turns on the television and a foreign film comes in view; a black and white French movie that Sansa sufficiently understands.

“He seems nice. I’ll eventually like him.” Sansa murmurs, half-heartedly. She speaks this as though the only guy she ever notices isn’t Jon, like the only distraction to her meticulous schedule and studying is not him.

Margaery makes a sound in her throat as she drinks her apple juice. “Anyone can like anyone. Maybe you’ll like _like_ him ad it’ll go deeper like love.” She sips at the rich red sauce, casually.

She had to resist the immediate reaction to laugh. Because in the previous years, she attempted to ignore this festering adoration towards someone who doesn’t seem to want her but nothing worked. The heart is an irrational and blind thing, always so giving and yet so senseless she wants to tear her hair out. Everything in her life is logical, sensible, everything but _this_ , the love she feels. It’s out of place in her leather planner, can be found nowhere in her plans and maybe there’s an appeal to it.

Few months flew by and she’s dating Harry. With her non-existent knowledge of boyfriends, he’s a notably considerate and endearing one in her terms. They go out of the campus for their dates, he likes to hold her hand and kiss her. Kissing with him felt nice, a curious action that she always learns from each time he initiates it. She likes him, adores him even to an extent.

She liked Harry, she decides with a small smile.

While she and Margaery were watching one of the artist’s favourite Italian movies, her phone buzzed. Harry hasn’t texted her all day, except to inform her how he had a study group that doesn’t include her and she didn’t mind it. Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise.

Jon: _Robb is with his girlfriend. Theon is out spectacularly drunk in a pub somewhere. Want to go bowling? It’s barely three blocks from the campus._

“This is the part I can’t get over! Margarette chases her husband but it’s her uncle and-“ Margaery stopped in her ramblings as she realized Sansa is staring at her phone with shock slackening her face. “Uh, what happened? You okay?”

She wordlessly gave her phone to her roommate and waited for the laugh, thinking it was a joke. “You should go with me.” She muttered, chewing on her sour cream flavoured popcorn. Not bothering to see the frown on Margaery’s face as she stared at the screen, not at all intently watching the on-going movie.

“Is that his intention? He probably wants to hang out with you alone.” The artist slowly reasons, digging her hand in her own bowl of popcorn. There wasn’t any malice in her voice, simply a factual statement.

She must’ve remembered the times wherein Jon would actively seek her out in libraries. After classes when she and Margaery chatted, he’d visit them with desserts and hang around. It was, in a small scale, annoying because even when they’re in this strange world of college, he makes time for her, bringing her favourite pies and not at all asking about Harry.

_Is it okay if Margaery joins us?_

He replied in an instant like he was waiting for her reply.

Jon: _Yeah of course! I’m waiting down in the lobby. Hurry up, princess._

As if on auto pilot, she sat up from the beige sofa and fetched her coat. She got an identical one and threw it on Margaery’s lap. “Come on, he’s waiting for us at the lobby.” She casually announced.

The walk to the bowling alley seemed an eternity with the awkward silence. None knew how to approach any subject, hands in pockets, and the soles of their shoes slapped against the concrete sidewalks.

“You know,” Margaery loudly said and Jon and Sansa snapped their necks to her. “It’s bold of you to assume we’d go with you here.” She thumbed the cursive neon lighted sign of said place.

Jon laughs, the cold evening mists his breath. “I’ve known Sansa all my life so I know she can’t resist a game and a fruity milkshake on the side.” He slid his eyes knowingly at her, slightly dusting cheeks and grinned. “I taught her bowling when we were fifteen. Remember how you dropped a bowling ball on my foot and I wore crutches for a week?”

Sansa laughed, loud and careless. She unconsciously leaned on his already bent arm, eyes shut and her fleeting happiness must’ve been infectious for the other two laughed as well. “I know it’s rude to laugh at that but oh my, that was hilarious!” She said, curling her hand on the sleeve of his jacket. Margaery pretended not to notice.

He jutted his lower lip. “Making fun of me, eh? Harry’s a bad influence on you now you’re so _rude_ to me, Stark.” He whined but his mouth curved all the same.

Margaery smiled fondly at these friends. _If you can even call them that._

“Oh please, you got the prettiest girl in our grade writing her name on your cast. You ranted about it for the next two weeks to me.” She huffed.

“Yeah you’re the first one to sign it.” Jon basically flirted back.

That’s the thing with him. Sansa won’t ever be sure what his words mean. In plain ears, it could be interpreted that way but she’s known him all her life. Layers of secrets coat his sentences and she’d unravel each one if only she has the audacity for it.

He opened the door for them. The bowling alley was teeming with their peers, of different majors and much more people they didn’t recognize. Sansa made a bee line towards the counter inquiring for their shoe sizes. Margaery ordered snacks for everyone while Jon went to Sansa, laying a hand on the small of her back.

“So you know my shoe size? That’s kind of creepy.” Jon said with a chuckle.

Sansa narrowed her eye mockingly. “Jon, like you said, we’ve been bowling since we were fifteen. I think I’d know your shoe size by now.” She scrunches her nose when Jon tapped the end of it.

“You just have to know _everything_ , huh? You little smarty pants.” He murmured.

The man behind the counter dropped three pairs of shoes, slightly glaring at them and shooed them away.

“Hey so we’re at this aisle.” Margaery pointed as her other arm held buckets of popcorn, and three glasses of milkshakes. Jon lent a helping hand to which she was grateful for.

They must’ve been an odd pair, she mused as she caught glances of people around them. Jon a known athlete is with two girls none of them probably recognized. They placed their snacks on a table and began to play.

Thanks to Jon, she got decent scores, not as perfect as him or Margaery but well enough. Surprisingly, her best friend got strike after strike meanwhile Jon had one or two misses from it. Much to Sansa’s delight and to Margaery’s bemusement, the famed athlete is clearly losing by a mile.

 “I should’ve taught Sansa how to bowl because you both suck.” Margaery proclaimed, sipping from her mango cheesecake milkshake. She crossed her ankles on top of the table and grandly gestured for Jon to continue the flow of turns.

“I’m just giving you a chance.” He and Sansa simultaneously protested. Jon looked over his shoulder, surprise on his face but he winked at her. He then threw his ball onto the lane, resulting in a strike.

Sansa clapped enthusiastically at that. “Oh, you both are so wonderful at this!” She cheered. The air among them was amiable, light and there wasn’t any awkwardness that initially lingered. Taunts and laughter rang from their table as though they have always been friends.

Jon mockingly bowed at her before drinking his can of soda. “My lady is too kind.”

“She certainly is.” Margaery agreed. “It’s okay to say I’m the _most_ wonderful though. I’m sure his ego should take a few hits in life.” She leans in her friend though her words were aimed at the man busying himself with his slice of pizza. They both giggled.

“Well, I’ll go and ask the manager if there’s any prize for my best friend’s consistent lucky streaks! Perhaps a discount for us or whatnot.” Sansa wondered as she snatched up Margaery’s score sheet and rolled her eyes when she smirked, much to Jon’ disgust.

“Why do you insist on increasing her ego?” He shouted after her.

Margaery replied with a scathing replied and Jon merely glared at her once more.

Sansa skipped in her steps, the heels clicking as she marched to the counter. The same manager gave her the same frown when they entered. The question is posed on her tongue but the bell rang, signalling a new costumer and the grouchy man ignored her.

She turned, fully intending to ask a moment or two but found the oddest picture. “Harry?” She assessed in utter confusion.

The blond blanched notably. He had company as well, another blond. She has honey locks that curled in the ends, a tiny sweater and mid-thigh skirt, and her face was makeup perfection. “Sansa, what are you doing here?” He hissed in irritation.

The blond had mahogany brown eyes that trailed from Sansa’s head to toe. “Who is this?” She questioned with a bite to her words.

Sansa’s eyebrows were furrowed with bewilderment. “Um, Harry, is this your tutor? And I’m Sansa Stark, his girlfriend.” She introduced herself, holding her hand out. Bafflement increased in degrees when the gorgeous woman merely laughed and waved off her hand.

“This can’t be your girlfriend! She’s so, _so._ ” Harry’s eccentric friend mocked. She flipped her hair on her back and tilted her chin higher which wasn’t necessary as she already is taller with her heels.

For once, she was at lost for words. What’s happening? She eyed Harry and this girl, trying to piece the puzzles. “Harry?” She mumbled, uncertain of what she should say in this dilemma.

Harry rolled his baby blue eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “Now you’ve done it! You ruined the evening, Sansa!” He exclaimed in fury.

She took a step back, her hand on her chest. Glancing around, people were starting to notice some scene that’s about to happen. A sudden idea clicked in her mind. _They’re on a date._ Her heart almost stopped beating at this realization. _I-I intruded on their date. My boyfriend has a date with this Amazon of a woman._

“Stop looking like a goldfish and just get out of here.” Harry bit out and pointed to the door.

Tears pooled in her eyes, her hands shaking. And when she turned on her foot, she collides with a warm chest. Angling her chin higher, she sees Jon with a firm frown and his face harder than stone.

His hands press against her hips, thumbs moving in circles and eyed the other couple with contempt. “Everything alright here?” He says in a tone that clearly implies he has assumptions and nothing is fine.

“Yes, we-we should leave now.” Sansa whispered, not at all bothered at Jon’ large hands on her hips. If he wasn’t holding her, she would’ve sunk on the floor with grief. Plus, they aren’t breaking anything. Not when Harry is literally with another girl. She peeked at Jon’ side to see Margaery who is disapproving at the scene and at how people were staring openly now.

He stiffly nods and leads her mere inches away before Harry _had_ to speak.

“I should’ve known you’re still seeing him even when you’re dating me.” Harry spat out.

Sansa abruptly turned around, her mouth hung open for the second time tonight. “I’ve _told_ you me and Jon are friends! Margaery is here with us. Harry, we are _friends_. Nothing has or ever did happen.” She reminded him, her voice is steel. Caring for not causing a scene slips past her as she stares at them, eyes burning and her throat tight.

He stepped forward and thankfully, she felt Jon move closer until his chest brushed against her shoulder. “I saw him visit you in your dormitory at nights. He’s one smug bastard when he leaves early in the morning. Oh please, maybe you have a threesome with your _friends_ or some shit.” The blue in his eyes that she admired so much churned darker like velvet night. “So the rumours are true, you’re a skank, El.” He says in a whisper, perhaps for only her to hear.

With fortunate luck, Jon was with her. And in the next moment, Harry is on the floor grunting in pain with Jon on top of him, repeating his vicious blow after blow. Sansa screamed and she felt Margaery at her side. But she didn’t concern herself with Harry but rather of her childhood friend, fearing he might be hurt.

It took two bodyguards to rip Jon off her now ex-boyfriend. His lower lip is cut, a thin river of blood dripping down his shirt. Sansa hasn’t ever seen this much rage in him, even in the most fierce games he participated in aggressive sports. He almost looks animal, his chest heaving, his eyes were sharper with ire, and his hands were curled into fists.

Jon spat on Harry, the poor man was on the floor, cradling his nose. There were clear bruises on his face and Sansa felt a thud of satisfaction. “If you even _look_ at Sansa again, I’ll break your fucking limbs. Make sure you breathe through tubes and make your face so goddamn unrecognizable, your mother won’t know you.” He threatened with his voice low and promising.

When they were escorted out the bowling alley, Jon shrugged off his caramel jacket and laid it on Sansa’s shoulders. “You look cold.” He muttered, before walking down the street as though nothing happened. The sleeves tickle her fingers and she had to fold it a few times so it stays on her forearms. It was warm and by far the biggest honour bestowed upon her.

The way back to the dorm was a blur. Jon is now seated on one of the kitchen stools, his hands on ice. Margaery seemingly excused herself with implications in her gaze that Sansa understood.

Gingerly, as though she only began to learn how to walk, she padded over to her other friend. She sat on the metallic stool across of his, her hands interlaced, her bunny slippers hanging from her feet as she idly swings them. “You’re so impulsive.” She murmurs; the granite counter top is suddenly the most interesting thing on earth. Anger gave away to the concern that quakes something in her chest, perhaps her heart.

“I don’t regret it. I should-never mind.” Jon inhales sharply and shakes his head. With the fluorescent light above them, the cut on his lip looks worse and shines with dried blood, the bruises on his cheekbones more defined.

His hands still had bags of ice on top as the knuckles were bruised but he releases his right hand and holds hers. The iciness didn’t matter because the tender look on his face could’ve melted the North. “He is an asshole and I should’ve out him in a coma.” He grunted, his hand encasing her in a firmer grip.

Sansa’s senses must’ve taken a leave this night.

Without breaking eye contact, she lifts his bruised hand and kisses each bump of knuckle. Heat bloomed on her face, unravelling downwards to her neck at the intense reaction Jon has. “You could’ve been hurt more. I can’t have that on my conscience.” She whispers against his fingers. She’s almost certain a shiver feathered down his spine.

Jon nodded, his hand slipping from hers. “But people will talk about us again. I don’t even know why they keep on doing that shit, it’s annoying.” He eyed with carefully. “Maybe we should stop hanging out for a while. I don’t want people to whisper things behind your back.” He worries with genuine concern.

“ _No.”_ Sansa’s answer is without thought, immediate, panicked even at the notion of Jon being out of reach. She stared at him defiantly, consciously ignoring propriety, of good sense because she _can’t_ lose him to busy bodies that don’t do anything else in their lives.

“I can’t lose you _too._ You’re the only consistent person in my life. I-I can’t please…”She couldn’t finish her sentence for it broke, trailing off and Jon knew what pieces to pick up. Tears ran down her cheeks, dotting the clear kitchen table that she didn’t hear Jon moving and dragging his stool so he sits next to her.

“I’m sorry I suggested it.” Jon whispered, leaning forward to place kisses on the side of her head. The bag of ice slid off his hands, from being left out from the freezer for too long and all what’s left is puddle chilled water. His cool thumbs swiped her cheeks clean of her tears.

He twisted the seat she’s on so she now faces him, his knees unabashedly spread open so they can encase her legs. “We might be with any other people but they come and go. Everything else is temporary compared to you and me. In the end, it’s you and me, okay? We have each other’s backs and this is all that matters.” He says with ardent conviction there must be some _other_ meaning to his words. _You matter to me most._

 _Does he talk to his other friends like this?_ Sansa wouldn’t dare know. She clings on to some hope she’s somewhat treated slightly different, almost better than the rest of his gang of friends. At least in her delusion, she’s treated in the manner she’s dreamed of when she was young, a brave knight who devotes his life to some high-born woman.

“Jon, I-you’ve done so much for me. I’m not sure I have done anything for you.”  Sansa murmurs, disbelief at the end of her sentence. She tries to remember what she did for Jon to receive such magnanimous attitude from him. Aside from attending dull charity events and helping him with schoolwork, she isn’t sure what else she did.

Jon smiled, showing off something she doesn’t know. “Sansa Stark doesn’t know something? Now there’s a surprise.” He breathes; the baby hairs on her forehead move. He tucks locks of her hair behind her ear before lightly caressing ha spot below her jaw.

A fleeting caress that she would’ve given anything to last a second longer.

_I think I know love with you. Could we prove my hypothesis?_

It only now strikes her on how selfish she acts around him. The toy she carries all the time and she would promptly refuse to let anyone less touch it, let alone take her plaything out of her sight. She’d stomp her foot and demand to have it back in her arms, to be hers.

But who could blame her? In her life barren of affection, Jon is the first person to introduce it to her. He taught her something that aren’t mentioned in textbooks or almanacs; love. Even if he intends it to be an innocent child’s sort of affection, Sansa digs it deep in her and now, it transcended beyond a naïve emotion to one that’s profound and she can’t even define it right now.

And Jon has other friends besides _her._ He spends time having invaluable memories with them. Sansa has Margaery and she loves her dearly but a part of her will always wait until Jon knocks upon their door with a hand of her favourite dessert. _He’ll always come back to me, won’t he?_

 _I’m a brat._ She thought with self-deprecation. “I’m sorry by the way.” Sansa declares softly.

“For what?”

Since he’s practically caging her with his legs, she couldn’t look or move away and instead she stared at his shoulder. “The people think we’re dating since middle school. I’m sorry if it affected your, ah, nightly endeavours.” She explains herself, almost picturing faceless people whispering to each other if they could see them now. Heads bowed to each other, Jon’ bloodied hands on her thighs and Sansa’s tear soaked face glowing. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Are you apologetic for being my friend?” Jon whispers. And though he’s known for being reclusive, with her in her tranquil apartment, his sky blue eyes are bright with fear. “At the end of the day, I don’t have anyone, really save for you. I don’t feel guilty of how close we are. I don’t give a crap because like you said, _you’re_ the only consistent person in my life too.”

Sansa sat there, dumbfounded. The silence stretched on for years perhaps, gazing at Jon with shock and her mind is static noise. This confession wormed its way to her heart, branding each inch of her heart for him.

 _My friend._ Her hopes deflated in an instant. ”I can never regret being your friend.” _I just regret wanting more, delighting in these false talks of us. Heaven forgive me for being so greedy._ “I just wished people would mind their own business. What we have is private, only for _us._ ”

He smiled, eye crinkles and all. “Good because tomorrow, you and I will eat at that ice cream parlour you love so much, the one beside the uni café. They have our two other best friends.” He decreed and his thumbs skimmed on her thighs in gentle circles.

“Ben and Jerry.” She correctly guessed with a small laugh that seemed to echo around them.

She could already picture them, sitting beside some window. He would indulge in his brownies and chocolate flavour while she would enjoy her pint of cookie dough. They would talk about their parents, their classes, and it is a source of comfort Sansa has learned to crave. The image was so near she could almost touch it.

She glanced at the clock and realized it was so late. The curfew for his dormitory would be midnight and she doesn’t want him to be locked out of there.

“Do you want your jacket back?” Sansa instead said, gesturing to baggy sleeves on her arms. A part of her refuses him to leave, but the more logical portion demands to have _some_ space so she can think about what happened mere hours ago.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You should keep it, looks cute on you. I should probably go to my dorm.”

“Wait.” She blurts out and he stays in his seat.

Sansa grabs the bandage roll from the kitchen table and wraps it air tight on his hands, her palms rubbing against the cotton texture. When she’s satisfied of the outcome, she smiles at him and he takes that as a leave.

He stands up and Sansa doesn’t know what propelled her to do it but she hugs him. Her small arms around his waist, her face buried into the bloodied shirt he’s wearing, and her head brushing against his chin.

She closes her eyes tight. “Thank you, you idiot.” She mumbles into his chest.

His sinewy arms went around her and if he meant to suffocate her, she wouldn’t mind at all. “Anything for you.” He murmurs on the top of her head.

“Text me if you need anything for your wounds. I’ll be there in no time.” Sansa sternly declares. She hated how Jon got hurt because of her, his hands bruised, and his appearance in disarray.

“I know you will.”

And he leaves the apartment with her heart tucked in his broken hands.

Sansa turned, to enter her bedroom when Margaery emerged from hers. “Jon just left.” She informed.

Margaery’s eyebrow arched. “I don’t get the both of you, thick in the head and stubborn as they go.” She complained, eyeing the other freshman with much puzzlement. “This should’ve snapped the tension in half and be done with it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She protested, being the lady she is. She couldn’t outright agree with the coded sentences in between what she heard. _I can’t hope and now I’m lonelier._

Perhaps this is why she was adamant in dating Harry, so she can find love in an easier route. She could see herself with Harry, the perfect guy her parents would be thrilled to meet, their futures would be sensibly aligned and everything would be perfect.

Reality so near except for the fact that Harry cheated on her. It stung more than she could comprehend and her hands shake if she recalls his infidelity.

The artists tilted her head to one side with her mouth mimicking the action. She approached her friend, so small with Jon’ jacket engulfing her frame. “Of course you do, he knows it too.” 

Sansa fears her feelings are extremely transparent. Or worse, Jon knows how she feels and doesn’t care. She blinks, her hands curling at the hem of her shirt. “He doesn’t act like he does.” She murmurs, defeated and eyes lowering on the floor.

“I have half a mind to drag him back him and lock you both in your bedroom.” Margaery nonchalantly declares. She smiles when Sansa snaps her head up at that. “But I won’t, for now.” She says over her shoulder as she shuts the door to her bedroom.

 _Maybe I want her to do that._ Sansa cringed at how desperate she sounded. She supposed pining over a guy for years could make the senseless sound so enticing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was weeks after the Harry Incident that Sansa began to feel like things are back to normal. Her good mood is because of her dear friends. Margaery constantly leaves tiny sketches of her favourite things as notes on the kitchen counter because their schedules differ in times. Meanwhile, Jon treated her to a pint of Ben and Jerry. They had pleasant talks, laughing and downright careless of their fun. In the end, he bought a handful of her favourite flavour and stocked her fridge that can last for weeks.

Her cheeks dent in recalling this. The rare times she sees Harry, he unconsciously touches the bandage stretching across his now broken nose. She thinks she smirks whenever he does this. And though the humiliation randomly makes itself known at times, she can manage the waves of it. She thinks she’s fine, moved on.

After her morning class, she enters the girls’ restroom, entering a stall. When the toilet flushes, she makes a move to exit it but the words from the girls outside made her freeze.

“Do you think that hottie Jon Snow is single?”

Sansa peeks between the gaps of the door and the wall its screwed to. She sees about four girls, with varying shades of blonde and brown hair, retouching their makeup and fixing their shirts and skirts. She holds her breath, waiting for her companions to confirm that she is but the reply was much worse.

“Uh, isn’t he with Harry’s ex? Heard the girl was cheating on Harry with Jon. What’s her name again, Alayne?” A petite brunette asked aloud. They were all facing the mirror and not at all aware the topic of their conversation is only a few feet behind them.

Another girl with short chocolate locks snapped her fingers.  “Sansa, that’s her name! She looks really innocent but apparently not! My, going between those hot guys is not something good girls would do.” She said with orotund giggles echoing in the walls they’re boxed in.

A taller blonde applied more lipstick to her lips, her green eyes focused on her reflection. “Makes you wonder what she has that make these guys crazy huh? I mean, leave one of them for us, you know what I mean?” She says with a honeyed voice to which the others laughed at.

“I heard, Jon beat up Harry pretty bad because he got crazy jealous or something like that. And oh, they’ve been dating since middle school. Isn’t that sweet?” The one at the end commented with a romantic sigh. She combed her luscious locks with a red comb.

 _Jon being jealous?_ Sansa found that incredibly ridiculous and unfounded. Nonetheless, she leaned against the wall and listened to more false stories. There seems ot be more because they shared an expression of being contemplative.

“I saw them at the uni café a couple of times. Oh they looked so cute together! They were exchanging their ice cream and Jon kept on tapping her nose and she’s so smiley around him.”

“I do admit they’re kind of cute.” The blonde that asked about Jon’s situation begrudgingly agreed. “But damn, she didn’t need to cheat on Harry to get that hot piece.”

Sansa couldn’t see who said that seeing as how she stood beyond the half an inch gap provided for her. She blushed at that memory. It was the day after the breakup and Jon kept on teasing on how happy she is. She could almost feel his fingers brushing against hers, the soft smile she loves to bask in because it softens his face and her heart is a puddle of affection.

The memory is forgotten as she hears unison clicks of heels. Inspecting both sides of hallways and not seeing them, she races towards the exit of the Humanities Building and fishes her phone out.

In the first ring, Jon answers.

_What up, buttercup?_

“We have to talk. Meet me in twenty at my apartment.” Sansa instructs and hangs up on the phone. She walks, her legs aching by the time she pushes the door open. Thankfully, her roommate isn’t here yet, probably busy with requirements and such. But for once, school necessity isn’t in her mind because all she can think of are the new onslaught of rumours she first handed heard. Knowing his schedule is now a perk because she knows he has free period like she does.

Jon doesn’t disappoint and arrives in her living room in ten minutes, puffing and he obviously ran across the campus to see her. “What, what’s wrong? Tell me Sans.” He pleads, pausing between the words to harshly breathe.

“People are talking about us even more now!” Sansa exclaims in utter panic. She threw her hands in the air as she states this in blatant fear, the very one she has tried to avoid for years one. She flopped down on the sofa as Jon made a bee line to the kitchen, fetching two bottles of water from the fridge then giving one of them to her.

“Explain.”

Her fingers danced on the slippery surface of her water bottle, her gaze focused at the fuzzy grey carpet pinned by the coffee table. “I was in the bathroom stall when I heard a couple of girls ask each other if you’re single. Then one of them stupidly said that I’m _your_ girlfriend. They went on saying I  _cheated_ on Harry with you. It’s utterly insane and I hate that I’m being tainted as a cheater even though I never did anything of that sort. They kept on naively gushing about us like we’re a true couple and how _smitten_ we are about each other. How silly, right? And I’m so sorry for you Jon, she seems like a really nice girl and maybe you can clarify you’re truly single and not at all with me.” She took a deep breath when she finished, her neck still craned down and the silence was at its loudest.

It must’ve been centuries before she decided to look up. She only found Jon staring at her with an intense expression, not even moving from where he stood, water bottle half-finished and his expression could’ve made any other prey scamper from such a gaze.

“Is it truly so horrible to be with me?” Jon muttered quietly, earnestly, in a tone she hasn’t heard him talk with.

“What?” _So you don’t know I freaking love you since we were twelve? You honestly don’t?_

He sat down on one of the sofa’s chair, their knees brushing. “Well, you repeatedly tell me how unsoundly it is that people think we’re dating and I’m convinced you don’t like the idea, of me being your boyfriend. Am I not like your prince Harry, perfect blonde and blue eyed moron?” He spat out in a subtle tone of ire. He is now the one who can’t maintain eye contact with her and drops his focus on the glass top of the coffee table.

“You are _nothing_ like Harry.” Sansa shakily intervenes, glaring at him. What idiots’ boys are in the subject of love? She hates how she’s scared of rejection, that she acts on the assumption Jon scorns the supposed relationship they have. “You didn’t humiliate me by being with another girl in public, didn’t make me look like a fool, and you didn’t make me feel replaceable. So yes you’re the farthest thing from having any similarities with that vile slug.”

_I want you, not any man like you but you alone._

“Then how come you’re so disgusted to be with me? How come you laugh off every time you hear these stories? Tell me because all I can think of is how I’m so _beneath_ you and I don’t deserve any time of your day.” Jon grumbles, tugging on his grey sweat shirt.

It never occurred to her how Jon feels about their ordeal. She has always assumed (or forced herself to believe) that it doesn’t bother him. But now, he seems all the more affected, _hurt_ even by her façade of indifference. He sounded as though he’s genuinely affected by her reactions.

This was it. The moment this nightmare would cease and she would wake up grasping her cold sheets and colder sweat glistens on her face. But she knew better, knowing how the universe loves to toy with people and their futile lives.

“We’ve known each other for years and you still don’t know when I’m pretending?” She instead says because of course she’s too frightened to voice her true feelings, too hesitant because Harry’s shadow is laughing at the corner of her mind.

It took Jon under a minute to comprehend the things she wouldn’t dare say out loud. “So how _do_ you feel if not the apparent repulsion towards our romantic association?” He ponders.

“I feel I am delusional.” Sansa answers faintly like she’s talking to herself. “I delude myself into thinking it’s an achievable future for me. And I know this all seems terribly awkward to hear but I think I’m going mad, merging my fantasies and the dull reality.”

“Then we’re both fools, eh?”

Her eyes are wide, her heart mimicking waves crashing against a lone stone on the shore, and she swore her hands are the only things anchoring her in this sad truth. She tries to string words around the shift away from the truth even more, so they can pretend and look away but she’s tired of it all.

“I think we’re fools for our feelings.” She murmured, her hands climbing on her lap as though she’s forcing herself to stay seated and not at all fly to his arms.

Jon is the one who walked and sat down beside her. He took one of her hands and intertwined their fingers together. It echoes the action he initiated when they were entering the campus for the first time, hesitant and petrified of their new surroundings. Much alike to the unknown territory they’re venturing into.

“I love you.” He says with all the fondness a lovesick person can muster. His face softened noticeably and his touch a much gentler than she thought possible.

Sansa grips his larger hand harder. “I love you too.” She replies, her breath caressing his hand like silk before she places achingly tender kisses on his skin. She moves closer, inspired by their confession and kisses the corner of his mouth.

He turns his head and bend down to kiss her truly. Writing down the poetic things he can’t bring himself to express verbally but oh how eloquently he writes stanzas on her strawberry lips. They shift and he effortlessly plops her on his lap.

She wreaks havoc on any patch of skin available to her, scraping her nails against the column of his neck, lightly tugging on his beard (to which he responded tremendously and groaned into their furious kiss) and one word echoes in her distracted mind; _mine_. Her mouth, red and puffy, forms a pout when Jon abruptly stops kissing her and kiss, bite, and _suck_ at her skin.

Her hands combs through his hair with vigour, dimly recalling how she’s heard other girls fawn on how glorious Jon looks after a workout. _None will ever have the pleasure  of this again. Well maybe Jon doesn’t want a relationship out of this and is only acting on-_

“Love, I can _feel_ your thoughts, hush now. I’ll take care of you.” Jon assures against the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver, her skin dot with goose bumps.

The door opening as to someone entering barely fazes the couple making out on the couch.

Margaery only laughs. “Ah, I didn’t have to lock you both in some janitor’s closet!” She announces her presence and still they’re at it, becoming gaping holes and wanting to devour each other through kisses. “Please move to her bedroom, I’d like to watch a new Spanish movie I just found out about.” She loudly requests.

Sansa’s best friend is quite impressed at how the couple is able to hear her suggestion even when they’re extremely invested in their ah, activity. Her eyebrows disappear into her curls in seeing Jon lift Sansa up like she weighed nothing.

Sansa’s legs wound like a snake on his waist and they make it to her bedroom in records time, all the while knocking no furniture on the way to their destination.

She sighs, hearing their moans and grunts even at a distance of the entrance to their apartment. “You know what? I’ll use my headphones and lock _myself_ in my room for the next days.” She grumbled, stomping to the room across of Sansa’s where she knows it would be uncharacteristically messy.

But, Margaery is happy for them even if it costs ruining the tradition of Friday Silent Movie Nights.

 


End file.
